


Of Reddest Stolen Cherries

by Misterkingdom



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Dubious Consent, I had to re-post it because it was formatted so badly, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-22
Updated: 2015-10-22
Packaged: 2018-04-27 13:10:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5049817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Misterkingdom/pseuds/Misterkingdom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I’m at your mercy. Let her go.” Michel tried to keep his tone in check. </p><p>Imshael watched him with a small smirk. “No. We’re not done, you and I.” </p><p>“I’ve never liked games—“</p><p>“Learn to. Because it’s going to be a long night—for you, that is.”<br/>*<br/>Imshael kidnaps a young girl and forces Michel to play house to get her back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Reddest Stolen Cherries

**Author's Note:**

> **I HAD TO RE-POST THIS BECAUSE IT WAS FORMATTED SO BADLY. I APOLOGIZE. I NEED TO START READING BEFORE I POST**

The girl was dark and thin. She wore thick, weathered furs and an oversized scarecrow’s hat of a helmet. Around her laid rags of snow and dark woods, where howls of wolves raised human souls in the wilted village of Sarhnia. The fire she stoked was a long beacon in the black, signaling nothing. The girl seemed unbothered by the screaming cold. She looked at home under the star crowded sky.

Michel was lost in his overcoat next to her. He placed his hand on her bird boned shoulder and pulled her back until she lay against his chest. She went gratefully and placed her arm across his chest while tucking her head under his chin.

The youngling elf’s name was Myra. She was eight and her clan had be destroyed by a demons. He’d found her traveling by herself a week ago. He didn’t know if she was a sole survivor but he couldn’t go looking for the rest, he had to protect the village. He’d resigned to take care of her until he found a safer solution. Myra crossed her rough, freezing hand across his face until she tugged at his bangs. She’s too trusting of strangers.

 “Can we look for my clan tomorrow?” she asked. Her voice was husky with a deep Ferelden accent.

“I don’t think so.” Michel’s voice was gravely with sleep.

“Because of the people in the village?”

“Yes. They need me,” Michel said. Truth be told, he hadn’t seen a demon since the other morning but that could change at any moment. He’d hoped the reprieve was the Inquisitor’s doing. He’d sent the Herald that way two weeks ago. He’d also warned her about Imshael. It would be a wonder if she dealt with him. He could leave and do some good elsewhere.

 “If they didn’t need you, would you help me find them?”

“Of course, but Myra,"  _There might be nothing to find_. He sighed. “Yes.”

“Good,” she said quietly.

“Do you think the demons will be gone soon?”

“Yes. Izzy said so.”

“Who’s Izzy?”

“My friend.”

“Was he with you before we met?”

“Yes. He said everything's gonna be fixed by the Herald.”

“Ah, I see. It’s good to have hope.”

The mourning wind drowned their breathing. Michel had gotten used to sleeping little and being ready to attack at the slightest bit of noise. His eyelids were heavy and slipped closed. He’ll rest for an hour before going back on watch. The small elf pressing against him felt wonderful. He’d hadn’t hugged anyone in Maker knows how long.

Drowned voices caused him to crest from sleep. Myra’s shrill laughter woke him while the murmuring of a deeper one, caused him to snap up.

Imshael's sage green eyes were painted black by the night. Under his eyes were spilled ink blue. His skin was corpse pale. The fur on his coat stood up, like he was an aggravated animal, ready devour him.  

“Izzy said he was coming to get me,” Myra chirped happily. Imshael held her close to his chest.

“I always keep my promises,” Imshael said. “She’s cute, isn’t she?”

“Let her go.” Michel’s heart pounded in his ears.

“Why? She likes being held. Don't you like me holding you?”

Myra smiled. “Yes.”

“All’s well then,” Imshael said as he watched Michel with a dark gaze. “You were looking for me, and here I am.”

“What do you want?” Michel asked.

“Really? What do I want? You’re the one who’s been chasing me all these years. You’re the one still crying over spilled blood."

“Speak plainly, demon."

“ _Ahem._ Choice. Spirit.” Imshael smirked. The small elf in his arms fingered the charms hanging from his neck. She seemed unbothered by being in close proximity to the demon. 

“What do you want me to do?”

“Ah, now it’s interesting.”

“Tell me what you want in exchange for letting her go."

“She has nowhere else to go. She was all alone, and I took her in. I am not a bad man, Michel.”

“You killed her clan, didn't you?” Michel tried to keep his voice even. The demon’s smirk spread.

“Does it matter now?”

“No. It doesn’t. Tell me what you want.”

"I have enjoyed our game of cat and mouse but our relationship has lost its luster—the flirting is over, Michel."

"What are you talking about?"

"We're settling our differences tonight, once and for all," Imshael stated. "By the way, I had a nice chat with your Herald."

“Did you kill—“

“It’s always killing with you. You're very violent.” Imshael said. “No I didn’t. We talked and hashed out our problem like sensible beings. Like you and I _could’ve_.”

“Demon."

“I gave her something to help her cause and in turn she gave me you.”

 “She let you live?” Michel asked, astonished.

“Yes and she’s stronger for it. Don’t look so surprised—not everyone is as stupid as you are.” Imshael said. “Although, she got the better end of the deal. All I got from it is a half-breed bastard."

“Why are you angry at Michel?” Myra asked. The demon seemed to remember the part he was playing and smiled at the girl.

“I didn’t mean it. We’re friends, aren’t we, Michel?”

“When can we—“

“Aren’t we?”

“Yes.” Michel said. “When do you want to end this?"

"Patience, half-breed." Imshael said. "Now, we should all go to my home where it's nice and warm."

Michel took a shuddery breath. “The girl isn’t going anywhere. This is between you and I.”

“What, you want to leave her out here in all this nothing? Don’t be daft. She’s safer with us. And there’s candy.”

Myra’s eyes lit up as she turned to peer at Michel. “Can we please go?”

Michel staggered to his feet. Imshael rose with him. They watched each other like caged tigers. Michel’s heart tried to beat out of his chest. His sword was too heavy on his back. Imshael shifted the girl’s weight until he was cradling her—a threat as silent as tomorrow.

“Yes. Can I hold you?” Michel asked the girl.

“I want you to,” Myra replied.

“No, I’ll get jealous," Imshael chided. "You’re my fairy, remember?”

“Yes.” Myra ran her hands through his thick, tea colored hair. “I want you to hold me.”

“As long as I like? What if I wanted to carry you the entire way home?”

“You can hold me forever,” Myra said. Imshael smiled before walking off into the black. Michel's stomach filled with acid as he followed.  

Every step into the virgin snow cracked like the clean snap of bone. The demon and the girl’s voice was barely audible over the wind. Myra was with Imshael for a few weeks before he sent her to Michel. Imshael had said Michel was lonely, and Myra should spend a few nights with him to cheer him up. Michel should’ve known—if he did know, what had he’d done differently? Nothing. It wasn’t Myra’s fault. Imshael was anything anyone needed when he wanted something, even a father. Michel wanted to get it over with, but the desire demon intended on torturing him. Michel will gladly die to save the little girl. He couldn’t save Clan Virnehn or the multiple victims of Ishmael’s ‘gifts,’ but he would save her.

They entered the cabin through a small kitchen. Even with the cold clinging to him, Michel bled sweat. The giant scullery fire enclosed them in a dry, hot fist. The kitchen bled into a small living area, complete with a giant old couch adorned with multiple blankets. In front of the couch was a dying fire. Next to the fireplace there were thick, colorful books. Behind the couch was a small hallway separating two rooms.

Imshael turned to him. His smile was gentle, but his eyes were hard. "Our first rule is we don’t allow weapons in the house.”

Michel narrowed his eyes and threw his sword into the bleeding snow.

Imshael looked satisfied with himself. “And what’s rule number two, my fairy?”

“We have to take off our shoes,” Myra said knowingly.

Michel sat on the bench near the door. His foot was assaulted by glass shards of pain as it came back to life. He placed the shoes near the cabin door and approached Imshael.

The demon held up his hand. “Close the door and lock it, will you? The key is on the table.”

Michel did as he was told while Imshael rearranged Myra until she was on his shoulders. Michel felt the demons eyes on him through the entire process. It felt like an hour until he got the latch to work. He turned to put the key on the table. The demon clearing his throat stopped him.

“Hand me the key,” Imshael ordered.

The key dug into Michel’s hand. His breathing sped up. The demon’s smile fell and his eyes narrowed. Imshael wrapped his hand around Myra’s ankle. Michel willed himself to relax. He stood close enough to smell the winter rough scent of the demon and feel the warmth radiating off him.

Michel didn’t break eye contact with the demon as he slipped the heavy brass key into Imshael’s hand. Imshael gripped the tips of Michel’s fingers and held. Michel felt rage bubble in him. The demon pulled back before Michel lost his senses.

Imshael bowed to let Myra off his shoulders. The girl did so without missing a beat. She removed her hat and overcoat. She was only draped in a thin white dress. She removed her boots before foraging into the living room.

“I’m at your mercy. Let her go.” Michel tried to keep his tone in check. 

Imshael watched him with a small smirk. “No. We’re not done, you and I.”

“I’ve never liked games—“

“Learn to. Because it’s going to be a long night—for you, that is.” The demon turned to walk into the living room.

“Shoes,” Myra said while she sat the end of the couch and held a dusty book on her lap. Imshael stopped and bent down to remove his boots. He tossed the heavy things haphazardly before slipping off his leathers. His beige tunic did nothing to diminish his size. He beat Michel by a couple of inches and had at least ten pounds on him. He was physically intimidating, but his demonic powers were what concerned Michel. The demon combed his fingers through his own hair and sighed. He trudged into l living room and flopped down next to Myra.

“Are you coming, Michel?” Imshael asked.

Michel wasn’t coming out of this—whatever this was with Imshael—alive. He saw the monster in its true from. Michel remembered Imshael’s hands the most. They were bruise purple and twisted. The fingers were impossibly long. Michel had taken the keystone and lost everything—everyone. And just when he thought he had nothing else to lose, in comes Myra. Representing everything he’d done and failed to do. Now he had to wait until the tide rushed in. He will not let it take Myra as well.

“Michel?” Myra called.

Michel took a deep breath and entered the living room. Every inch of it was covered in an ark of different furs. Many beasts’ heads hung high on the wall. There was a painting of a hunter, his wife and their three children framed above the fireplace. Michel bit back bile as he thought of what could’ve happened to them.

Michel slouched down on the couch as well, even though he inched as far away from the demon as he could. He titled his head back and watched the mosaic of watermarks on the ceiling while inhaling the warm scent of pine.

“We’re finishing up,” Imshael said nonchalantly. The girl stuttered through the words, and Imshael sighed and gently took the book. “She’s still learning how to read. Knife-ears need to value their education more.”

“Don’t talk to her like that,” Michel said.  

“Like what?” Myra asked.

“She doesn’t know what it means,” Imshael said. "Hit a sore spot, did I?”

Michel calmed himself. He needed all his wits about him to make sure Myra survived. “Just get on with whatever you’re doing.”

“Certainly,” the demon said. He went to the very end of the book and cleared his throat. “ _Grandmother, what big teeth you have got! All the better to eat you up with. And, saying these words, this wicked wolf fell upon Little Red Riding Hood, and ate her all up_.”

“That’s not what happened,” Myra said. “The hunter saved her.”

“This version more true to life. Never trust strangers, my fairy.”

“I won’t,” Myra said dutifully.

“Good because _children, especially attractive, well-bred young ladies, should never talk to strangers, for if they should do so, they may well provide dinner for a wolf_ ,” Imshael warned. “And you are very attractive.”

“You’re disgusting,” Michel said. “If you so much as lay a hand on her—“

“Don’t interrupt me when I’m speaking.” Imshael’s gentle tone had a hard edge to it. “And I wouldn’t stoop so low.”

“I’m sure.”

“Now is not the time for you to get smart, half-breed,” Imshael said before turning back to Myra. “What else do you want to read? Pied Piper?”

“No. He drowns the children at the end,” Myra said. “I’m hungry.”

“Ah, of course.” Imshael stood up and dropped the book on the floor. “Michel will help me in the kitchen.”

Michel fought to suppress a groan before standing up. His body was heavier than he had ever felt it. His stomach was tied into knots. He turned and went into the kitchen. The demon followed him, chuckling. The kitchen floor was too warm, and the scullery fire was blazing out of control—a magical influence no doubt. He was sweat pebbled instantly. Imshael slammed the sliding doors shut behind him. He turned to Michel with a deep frown. Michel was doubled over in pain before he knew it—he’d gotten the wind knocked out of him from a hard punch to the stomach. He tackled the demons legs and sent them both falling to the floor. He got two good punches in before Imshael’s hands melted to flame and grasped his forearm. Michel couldn’t hear himself scream over the flame and gurgling cauldron. Imshael pushed him off. Michel landed on his back and stared at the ceiling until the demon entered his flickering view.

The moments ticked by as they caught their breaths.

“You’re holding back,” Imshael observed.

“Yes. I don’t know what tricks you have up your sleeve. I want to see her leave before we end this.”

“I see you’ve learned from the keystone incident. Good on you.” Imshael held out his hand. Michel took it and got to his feet. “Though you did have a choice. I could’ve cleansed your filthy blood, knife-ear.”

“At what cost, demon?”

“Nothing you haven’t already paid.” Imshael said. “You’ve lost everything because of your pride. Now all you’ve left is me.”

 “Indeed,” Michel said. “My greatest regret is you—setting you free to kill and maim. You’re a parasite, nothing more.”

"How dramatic. Look, I give choices and my so called 'victims' could chose to pick neither. Mortals are lazy and stupid. They'll do anything if you dangle a little power in their faces. Blame them for their own misfortune."

“You have a hand in their suffering because you seek it out. You could go your entire existence without harming anyone again but you won’t. You can’t. Misfortune is who you are and someone will end you for that. I only wish I could live to see it. Now release her and kill me, demon.”

"Kill you? No. Don't be so small minded," Imshael said. "I mean, I  _am_  going to kill you someday soon, but not tonight. We have a child to take care of tonight."

"Why are you prolonging this?"

"I like to watch you dance."

"How long do you insist on stalling?”

"I'll kill you tomorrow or the next day, or the next day, or the next day…Or in a week—it all depends on my mood.”

“Very well.” Michel sighed. The rage was snuffed out of him. “Listen, there are inquisition soldiers stationed in Alphonse’s Passage. They will be returning to Skyhold in a month. If you let me take her to them, I will not struggle when you murder me.”

“Tempting. So you’re giving me a choice?”

“Yes. You can either fight me to the death right here, or you can let her go and I’ll be the perfect lamb for your slaughter.

“What if I kill you and don’t let her go?”

“We both know that’s easier said than done, _mon ami,_ since I've had you on the run for years.” Michel felt a smirk tugging at his own lips. “And you enjoy toying with me—it’s in your demonic nature to do so. As long as you have her, you can do what you will with me.”

“When did you get to seductive?”

“Excuse me?”

“You’re right, but I will tire of you eventually. Let’s hope I do so after I release the girl.”

“Let us hope.” Michel didn't know what to say. He bent down to the sinking fire and grabbed a loaf of bread next to it.

“Careful. I’m tempted to push you in.” Imshael tapped Michel’s shoulder.

“Myra is hungry, so if there is nothing left between us to say, let’s feed her.”

Imshael dragged his eyes from Michel’s toes to the tip of his head. “Would you let me drown you? You said if I spare the girl you wouldn’t fight me when you met your demise.”

“I’ve said yes.”

"How about burn you at the stake? I've always been fond of the classics," Imshael said thoughtfully. "No, no, no, no—I have to get creative. Hm, a dismemberment by four horses? Yes. That one."

"If you've made up your mind, I would like to get back to the girl."

“Not yet.”

“And why not?”

“We still have unfinished business, Michel.”

“I am listening, demon.”

“You said you’re mine until I let her go.”

Michel’s stomach dropped. He fought not to step back as Imshael came to stand inches away from him.  “I suppose you could interpret that way, yes.”

“Hm. It’s been a while since I’ve met a mortal that hasn’t repelled me to my very core.” Imshael watched Michel’s lips before meeting his eyes. “And as boring and awful as you are, I’ve always admired you and your horribly misplaced convictions.”

Michel stepped back as bile rose in him. “What are you saying?”

“What do you think I’m saying?” Imshael moved as slowly as sap dripping from a tree until his fingers were tangled in Michel’s hair. Michel’s breaths were baited as a rush of fire coursed through him. Imshael’s eyes narrowed as his grip tightened. He slammed the side of Michel's face into a wall. Michel bit his lips to stop from crying out. “Don’t fight me now, half-breed.”

Michel forced himself to calm down. He gripped the demon's wrists because he didn’t know what else to do. His heart pounded against his chest. “You are deprived.”

“Hear me out, Michel—we’ve both done many things over the years to each other that _you’re_ going to regret, but why not this? Why not pleasure? _La petite mort_ , as you Orleasians call it.”

 “Unhand me.”

“Would it really kill you if we made love?”

“Unhand me, demon.”

“You have the power here. Make me.”

 “Your demons will kill her if I do.”

“No, they won’t.”

"I don't believe you."

"Good, because I'm lying. Now, what say you?"

“No, but I have no say in the matter.”

“You do. There’s always a choice to be made, half-breed.”

“She dies if I refuse you.”

“Yes, but it’s still a choice,” Imshael said. “Choose.”

“Yes.”

“Yes what?”

“I will let you rape me.”

“Such harsh words. I suppose it’s the knife-ear in you that makes you so vulgar.”

“Is there a better name for what you plan to do to me?”

“No. I suppose not.” Imshael released him and straightened his own attire. “Now, hand me that bread. We’ll make her a sandwich."

Shades. Two of them surrounded the small child who was sleeping on the couch. The plate slipped from his grasp. The impact was deafened by the fur on the floor. Before Michel could rush over and help her, the demon grabbed Michel’s nape, thus breaking his momentum. Michel gasped as Imshael’s grip tightened.

“She’s fine.”

“She is surrounded by your monsters!”

The girl stirred at the commotion around her. Imshael let Michel go before going over to the couch. Myra sat up and peered over the side of the couch.

Imshael cupped the side of her face. “Tell Michel our third rule.”

“No name calling,” Myra said sleepily. “They aren’t monsters.”

“Now, since Michel dropped dinner, he’ll go back in and make us more.”

Michel didn’t want to leave her alone. He took a deep breath and turned to go back into the kitchen until the girl spoke.

“No, I’m not hungry anymore. I’m tired.”

“Ah, I see.” The demon took a blanket off the back of the couch as the girl laid down. He draped the blanket on her. Michel slowly approached them. The shades didn’t turn to look at him as he shouldered his way through them. Myra looked serene. He knelt down to her. She reached out. Her small, hot and cupped his face.

“Goodnight," She said.

Michel forced a smile. “Goodnight.”

Ishmael cleared his throat. “All right, my fairy. We’re going to bed as well. Michel, go down the hallway and enter the door on your left.”

"That's your room," Myra said.

"Yes. We're sharing a room."

“Why? There’s two rooms.”

“I want to tell him a bedtime story.”

“Can I hear it?”

“No. This bedtime story is for adults," Imshael replied. He shouldered Michel out of the way and knelt down to Myra. He tapped his cheek, and the small elf placed her lips there. When she pulled back, Imshael smiled. “Goodnight. I’ll leave my friends here to keep you company.”

“You will do no such thing,” Michel said.

“They’re good pets, half-breed. They don’t attack unless I will it. Now, go to the bedroom and wait for me. We’ll start our bedtime story when I arrive.”

Michel was sick. He nodded at the demon before heading to the bedroom. He faltered when Imshael spoke quietly to the girl. He sighed and opened the bedroom door. The room was small and had mattress in the middle of it.  The large window hung over the headboard and looked out into the black abyss.

 _"La fierté de la chair"_. He couldn't think like that while Myra was surrounded by monsters. He had no time for dignity. The girl needed him. He would not fail her. Imshael didn't want him—not really. The demon wanted to see him struggle like a fly caught in a web, except only this time, the twist and turns was emotional. Bending him before breaking him. Pulling his strings before popping them.

He stripped off his shirt but couldn't bring himself to remove his pants. He crawled into the cold bed and sat against the headboard. There was a tempest in his stomach. He drifted in his head until a sound splashed him back to reality. The door closed—the demon was an intimidating figure in the hazy dark. Michel's heart sped up.

"You're so boring," Imshael said in way of greeting.

"Then let the girl go and kill me."

"No. That'd be too easy." Imshael sat on the end of the bed with his back to Michel. He combed his hands through his tea colored mane. "I'm disappointed in you. I’ve beaten you without so much as lifting a finger. All it took was one little knife-ear and you’re clay in my hands.”

"If you wanted a challenge, you would not have tangled Myra in our web."

"I suppose you're right," Imshael said. He got off the bed and came around to stand next to Michel. Michel fought to stay where he was. He took a deep breath and waited for the blood dimmed tide to rush in. Maybe Imshael decided just to kill him. The demon smirked. "But then I wouldn't have you here in my bed."

 Michel's stomach sunk. "Then you intend to go through with this?”

“Of course.”  Imshael climbed in the bed and knelt between Michel's legs. He gripped Michel's nape and pulled until their faces were an inch apart. The demon guided Michel’s head until the expanse of his neck was exposed. Imshael scraped his pin-point teeth down Michel's jugular, drawing a gasp too loud for the dark room. It'd been a while since he'd had any kind of touch in this way. He twisted his fingers in the sheets against the warmth flushing his body. Imshael issued lava hot licks to the proffered neck before biting a harsh, wet mark into Michel's vulnerable skin.

Michel shoved him away and brought his hands up to his own neck. No blood, but the bite was inhuman. He could feel the indents of a canine like bite. "If you wish me to reciprocate, don’t be the brute you are."

Imshael smiled. "I couldn't help it. You bring out the wolf in me.”

They met in a hot press of a kiss. Michel fisted the front of Imshael's tunic. The demon dragged them down until they were lying on the bed and settled between Michel's legs. Imshael was suffocating him with his heat. He gasped when the demon rocked into his hips. Imshael tasted like fresh bread with a metallic hint of blood. Michel felt nibbles along the swell of his bottom lip.

After one more kiss, the demon sat back on his knees. He pulled his tunic over his head and tossed it on the floor. His exposed body was muscular—the demon must have chosen it on aesthetic value alone. Imshael had always been as deep as a puddle.

Imshael's fingers stuttered over a large, white scar on Michel's stomach. "Your imperfections are perfect. I knew you were handsome—"

"Silence, demon."

Imshael smirked and took his place between Michel’s thighs again. He propped himself up with his forearms on either side of the head below him. The slick clench of their bodies fitting together made Michel's mind swim. The demon was too hot and hard against him. He let his mind go blank. He nipped at Imshael's lips. The demon reciprocated by grinding their erections together. Michel gasped against the kiss before tipping his head back against the pillow. The want was cresting—the betrayal of his mortal body. Michel's strangled breathing cut the ambient silence. He cradled the demon in his thighs and thrusted up to get contact where he needed it the most.

Imshael nuzzled his jugular and kissed like he's trying to steal every sound Michel makes. They were both sticky and panting. Animals in heat. Michel lost himself in numb pleasure. He was being touched with the skill of an old lover. Imshael seemed obsessed with his scars and traced every one he could get his fingers on. 

"Will you get on with it?" Michel panted against Ishmael's mouth. 

"No." Imshael grabbed a fistful of Michel's hair and yanked his head back before biting the curve of Michel's jaw. He pulled back, his jagged sharp teeth gleamed in the moonlight. "I'm going to drag every inch of pleasure out of you. I’m going to make you to want this as badly as I do because we're all we have left."

Michel's stomach soured. It was the truth—hunting **Imshael was his raison d'être**. He bucked up and made a broken noise. Imshael chuckled and nuzzled Michel's jaw.

"And Michel? I won't even have you after tonight."

Imshael marked his words with the hot press of lips. Michel groaned when the demon’s tongue found his. The kiss was gentler, their mouths touching with just the hint of tongue. Michel’s stomach fluttered as he raked his fingers up Imshael’s back. The demon broke the kiss and sat up. Moonlight glanced of Imshael’s spit-slick, swollen bottom lip. Michel broke out in a prickly sweat against the want rising in him. The mixture of moonlight and desire made the demon look almost human. Michel was sick with amnesiac pleasure. He could almost pretend the demon wasn’t filthy with blood magic.

Imshael went to the nightstand and lit a cheap, tin candelabra. The room was cast in a soft gold. Michel’s chest tightened as the dream he’d conjured crumpled to the ground. Now, all there was is Imshael, the creature that wanted to take everything before killing him.

“My, don’t you look alluring.” Imshael said as he watched Michel with a crushing desire in his eye. The candlelight danced behind the demon, the soft light draping him in shadow. Imshael was a porcelain statue—new and shiny, like they’ve never battled. Michel had almost beheaded him once upon a time, and even that didn’t mark the demon.

“Shut it.”  

Imshael smirked before unbuckling his pants and sliding them off. Michel’s breath caught. It was the perfect time to strike down the demon once and for all and be free. This was the most vulnerable he’d ever seen— _Myra_. Myra was surrounded by demons. Michel swallowed the disappointment and his pride before standing. He slid down his leggings.

“Make it quick, demon.”

“No. I intend on gorging myself on you,” Imshael said absently. Panic crept up in Michel as the demon watched him for a second too long before speaking again. “You could’ve been mine.”  

“Excuse me?”

“Do you remember that night in Val Royeaux?”

 The waters were cold, black tea and the lanterns lining the dock glittered like far off fireflies. Numb pain, like an ever slowing drumbeat, pulsed through him as his blood seeped through the cobblestones. The star riddled sky shined above him as he mouthed the chant of light. Imshael suddenly blocked his starlight by kneeling down next to him, as if he were praying over him. The demon’s hands were baptized with blood.

“Yes.”

“I offered you a choice—“

“To bind me to you if I wanted to live. I refused you and you left me to die.”

“It didn’t have to end that way, rabbit. We could’ve been unstoppable together but it’s too late now. You are a waste.”

“A pity, is it not?” Michel said dryly.

“Certainly, but now I can do what I want with you. Lie back.”

Michel did as he was told and tried to calm himself by counting the wooden rafters. He gasped when Imshael grabbed his ankles and placed them over his broad shoulders. Michel groaned too loud when the demon moved his hips and rubbed their cocks together. Michel’s breathing was erratic as he clenched his eyes shut against the tide of desire.

“Have you ever had this done to you?” Imshael inquired.

"Why do you care?"

“This is your last night in this realm, you should enjoy it.” Imshael rocked their hips together. Michel bit his lips and tipped his head back. The demon chuckled. “Now, answer me.”

"No."

Imshael hummed in response before reaching between them and fisting Michel’s cock. Michel moaned as a fire consumed him, knotting his body in white-hot pleasure. “When was your last amorous congress?”

"Why are you asking me these questions?" Michel asked breathlessly.

"Because I want to."

Michel groaned. "My last time is when I was a champion for the empress."

“With the empress?”

“No, of course not.”

“Hm. That’s a long time ago. Don’t tell me you stopped having sex because I was always on your mind?”

"Destroying you was."

“You should’ve had fun while you could.” Imshael slid his palm across the head of Michel’s cock. Michel bit his lip to stop from crying out. The demon inched Michel’s legs off his shoulder and left to open a dusty trunk at the end of the bed.

Michel sat up with his body heavy with want, and his skin too slick. “What are you looking for?”

“Something to ease my entrance.”

"What does that mean?"

"You've never been with a man?"

"I already said I hadn't."

"Saying you've never been fucked by a man isn't the same as saying you've never fucked a man." Imshael said. "I'm looking for something to make me taking you less painful. If I don't find it, I suppose you'll just have to suffer."

“You could at least search the nightstand, demon.”

Imshael made his way to the nightstand and dug through the drawers. He hummed and picked up a jar. "Lucky guess. We'll make do with this lotion. I'm certain the lady of the house won't mind."

Michel shuddered. His cock was hard and heavy on his stomach. He made himself sick—this was a demon who murdered untold numbers of innocents. The desire in him washed over that fact—hopefully for Myra. 

"On your knees," Imshael commanded. Michel pushed down the nervousness and obeyed. Imshael's presence weighed on him. The demon placed his hot hand on the knot of scars at the base of Michel's spine. "Who put this here? It surely wasn't me. I'm jealous."

"You’re not skilled enough to get that close to me in battle.”

“I don't know if that's true but it doesn’t matter. I can now.” Imshael kept his hand on the scar while he used his other hand to rub his lotion-sick thumb over Michel’s hole. Michel gasped when Imshael breached him. He twisted his fingers in the sheets against the pain. The demon ran his hand up Michel’s slick back until he cupped his nape. Imshael moved his thumb in and out. Michel bit his lips to bear the pain and cresting humiliation. The demon pulled back and got his fingers wet with cream. He issued no warning before breaching Michel again. Michel grunted out as the demon rocked his fingers in and out of him.

“Touch yourself.” Imshael said. Michel put his weight on one hand and circled his cock with the other. The spike of pleasure almost drowned the pain in his backside. He went more or less lax as Imshael pushed deeper into him. He clawed in the sheets as he groaned and pushed out.

“How does it feel?” Imshael asked.

“It’s painful,” Michel breathed.

“That is to be expected.” The demon stuck to fingers in him and stretched them in opposite directions. “It’ll get better soon.”

Michel bit his lips against the burning in his backside. He gasped as electricity jolted through him. “Maker—“

“By your tone I see that I’ve hit you in the right spot.” Imshael ran his damp palm across Michel’s abs. Michel’s precome slicked up his own fingers as Imshael added a third finger. He hit Michel’s prostate again. Michel pushed back on to the demon’s fingers until all three of them were buried knuckle deep in his ass. Michel buried his face in the bed in an effort to suffocate his love sick noises.

Imshael chuckled and hooked his fingers, stimulating Michel again. Michel’s toes curled at the wave of want cresting in his stomach.

“It’s good to see all your morals and convictions die out because of the promise of a hard cock.”

“Demon—” Michel started. He faltered when the demon continued his ministrations.

“It must be that lusty elfin savage in you. Knife-ears breed like rabbits.”

“You filthy monster—”

Imshael hooked his fingers. The sheets were dimmed with Michel’s sweat. He was too hot in the constricting room. He wanted Imshael badly, and it makes him sick to know it.

Imshael pulled his fingers out of Michel with an audible pop. Michel’s stomach turned at how open he felt. He slowly turned on to his back and watched the demon. Imshael was shiny with sweat. His tea colored hair was slicked out of his face. His eyelids were heavy with want. He didn't break eye contact as he slicked up his own cock until glistened.

“Only monsters make deals with monsters. You should know that by now, _mon lapin_.” Imshael's tone made Michel feel he’d made a mistake in trusting him. The demon lifted Michel’s hips and positioned himself. He grabbed the base of his cock and pushed into the tight hole. Michel covered his own mouth to stop the pained grunts. Imshael suppressed a groan before smiling and dragging his hand up Michel’s chest. The demon cupped Michel’s hand and removed it from his mouth. Michel fought to stay quiet.

Imshael chuckled. “Delicious.  You sound the same when we battle.”

Michel closed his eyes against the stabbing pain and humiliation. “Will you stop talking?”

“No. Stroke yourself.”

Michel took a deep breath and stroked his own hardness. Imshael grabbed Michel’s hips and pushed the rest of himself in with a soft curse. The demon hesitated before tilting forward to plant a hand on either side of Michel’s shoulders. Michel struggled on instinct, but Imshael shushed him with a firm kiss on the lips.

“You’re taking it well, just like the elfin whore I thought you’d be,” Imshael said. “This is exactly what you need.”

Imshael leaned down and brushed their lips together before moving his hips, pulling out and slowly pushing back in. Michel tipped his head back and Imshael took that chance to graze along Michel’s jugular. The silent room was being pierced by Imshael’s harsh breathing, Michel’s moans, and the wet noises coming from their joining. The pain tapered into mere discomfort. Michel moved his hips experimentally as he tried to get the pleasure Imshael’s fingers gave him. He cried out when the pleasure crackled down his spine again. Imshael chuckled as his thrusts grew firmer. He licked up Michel’s face, catching the sweat.

“Maybe I won’t kill you. Maybe I’ll just keep you and that little knife-ear with me so I can take you whenever I want. You’ll beg me for it, won’t you?”

Michel’s heart stuttered. “Shut up.”

“Make me.”

Michel swallowed his pride and pressed their lips together. Want and desire flooded his stomach. He moaned and lifted his hips, causing the demon to slide deeper into him. Imshael’s pace faltered as he bit Michel’s bottom lip. Michel’s stomach clenched in panic as a hot hit of copper drizzled in his mouth. The demon was deeper now, torturing his prostate with every thrust. The wet pressure of the demon on him makes his knees weak. The sensations were overwhelming. His mouth tingled and his stomach clenched with blooms and fades of lust.

“You’re so tight,” Imshael panted. “I should’ve done this years ago.”

Michel slid his hand between the clench of their bodies and stroked his cock. The pleasure sent sparks through his body as he tried to stroke himself in time with Imshael’s thrusts. The friction of the demon’s taught abdomen dragging along Michel’s cock made him come. Hot ejaculate slicked between them as Michel’s body hit the high note. He was barely aware of his gasping noises. Imshael stilled, his damp breath tickling Michel’s lips.

There we are.” Imshael moved up slightly and gripped the Michel’s cock. He stroked the last bit of come out of it, and Michel whined against unbearable pleasure. The demon smirked and pressed their spit slick mouths together. “You are certainly a sight to behold. The former champion of the empress, sworn to protect and serve, is lying with demons and mewling like a cheap whore.”

Michel thought it was impossible to feel more humiliated.

Imshael pressed his mouth into the hot hollow of Michel’s shoulder before biting down. His thrusts go short, sharp, and he loses his rhythm. Michel clawed the demon’s back as the pain was renewed. Imshael groans into Michel’s abused skin as he comes, pressing painfully deep into Michel.

The candles had blown out long ago, and the room was heavy with musk. Their breathing was the only sound in the looming silence. Michel doesn’t know how long he remained under the demon, with sweat and come cooling on his body. His chest constricted. He was disgusted as yellow panic shot through his veins. He took calming breaths. The worst of it was over.

“Off,” Michel said. The pain crackled through him as the demon eased himself out.  

For a long time they lay there, staring at nothing. Michel tried to sit up, but pain shot through him causing him to slump back down. He rubbed his temples, trying not to think of how open he felt or the come inside him. He tried not to think of how much he enjoyed it, or the shame of Imshael knowing he enjoyed it.

Imshael turned to watch him in the dark. “How do you feel?”

“Violated.”

“Oh, come now. You enjoyed me as much as I enjoyed having you. You were delightful.” The demon moved to drape his arm over Michel’s chest, their sweat damp skin stuck to each other’s. “And you should feel victorious. I won’t kill the little knife-ear—”

“Good.”

“—if you remain obedient to me like you were tonight.”

Michel was gripped by terror. “What are you saying?”

 “I’m offering you a choice. Well, I suppose it’s more of a trade,” Imshael said as he curled his fingers around Michel’s neck, almost tight enough to cut off his breathing. The demon’s hands were bruise purple and gnarled, just like they were when they’d met. “Your soul for the knife-ear’s.”

Michel’s chest tightened as he broke into a prickly sweat. “Kill me.”

“I’ll even let you pick the sacrifice for the binding ritual.” Imshael dragged his tongue up the side of Michel’s face. “We’ll adopt Myra to complete our fairytale and live happily ever after—well, at least until you become boring.”

“Imshael, no—“

The demon hushed him before brushing his lips across Michel’s temple. Imshael slipped his fingers in Michel’s mouth and pushed until his index and forefinger were seated on his tongue. Michel choked back a panicked sob.

“In time you'll want to be mine,” Imshael purred. “Fall into it,  _mon lapin_. It’ll be easier that way.”

**Author's Note:**

> 1) This is all intellectualwasteland's fault. She introduced me to the pairing, beta'd, wrote some, gave me ideas--SHE WAS AN ALL AROUND ENABLER. This wouldn't have be written without her help. She's my little Swiss Army Knife. So punish her by giving her some Alistair/Dorian prompts.  
> 2) It's a crime that there's no Imshael/Michel de Chevin tag. If you guys have any recs of that pairing, let me know! I want to read fanfictions about these two.  
> 3) I wrote this fic to distract me from midterms, though I'm still working on my Dorian/Cullen fic. I'm hoping to come back with two chapters for it :(  
> 4) The title is from 'The Stolen Child' by W.B. Yeats.  
> 5) The italicized words that isn't French is from Charles Perrault's Little Red Riding Hood.  
> 6) French words used: 
> 
> *Mon Lapin: My rabbit  
> *La petite mort: the little death  
> *"La fierté de la chair": The Pride of the Flesh  
> *Raison d'être: reason for being  
> *Mon ami: my friend
> 
> 7) I don't know if they're in character or not because I haven't read the Masked Empire. I'm in the process of reading it now, though. I love it so far.  
> 8) Tell me what you think!!


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